


Echoes Through the Citadel

by puddinpotato



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Adventure, Development, Feelings, Growing Up, Kids, Teens, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddinpotato/pseuds/puddinpotato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up can be a stressful endeavor.  Growing up as a War Pup can be a tad different, especially when one considers the apocalypse and children being born into a world they could never see as an apocalypse.  To them, this is normal, this is life, and they have to grow up in it.  Good thing they got fast cars and faster guns and a Doof on a guitar, otherwise this deserty life might turn out to be rather boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Boy and His Doof

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy...this is awkward...
> 
> Hey guys, hey, look what I did, I wrote another thing. This one's a bit more put together and I have mroe passion for it than that, one idea, I had. I mean it was a fun idea but after talking about War Boys and War Boy culture and War Boys this and War Boys that, I...kinda wanted to write more about the Boys as Pups and up than some...drive across the desert.
> 
> Look it's got Nux and Slit in it so you'll automatically be happy right? Plus Furiosa, and Coma the Doof Warrior. I've seen this movie a million times now I gots ta write it. I gots ta. I just gots ta. So...let's begin with everyone's favorite lil War Pup.

**XXX**

**Echoes Through the Citadel**

**A Boy and His Doof  
**

**XXX**

  
There were clangs, bangs, tangs, pangs, and all kinds of thumps and thuds and clacking that sounded through the rocky walls of the Citadel’s inner workings.  Whether they be rumbling growls from the Aqua Cola or clanking of enormous gears or revving of multiple car engines, they were familiar.  Normal noises, ones the War Pups would have trouble falling asleep without.  Used to the clacking and the clanging and the shouting of the older War Boys, the screaming of the disfigured people swamping the earth below them, the rasping and wheezing of sleeping comrades, silence would have been a fearful thing.  It meant no gears were turning and no cars were driving and no throaty sounds may mean their neighbors be dead.  It meant something was wrong.

  
Through the noise that was the Citadel in its living entirety, there resonated through the halls something of uniqueness, something melodic and rare.  Musical tones, not unheard of,  not here in darkened man carved caverns anyway.  For Nux though, every night, every day, hearing those strings bounce from rock to rock and never seeing their creation, it drove the littlest War Pup with the biggest blue eyes wandering after it, a curious mind quick to tug at the strings of something new and shiny.

  
Escaping from the shops, slipping past his peers, hiding from their superiors, he scurried after the sound, its picking and plucking teasing his ears and he knew what it was, but couldn’t remember.  Just as his ears picked it out from a turn, a cold hand was grasping his thin shoulder and pulling him back.  
“What d’ya think you’re doin’, ah Nux?”  

  
Little Nux turned to face the older Pup, innocent curiosity driving him forward again as he brushed off the other’s hand.  “Do you hear it Slit?” He started forward again, but the painted hand was at his shoulder again and he sighed, exhaustingly, the plucking tunes still in his ears.  “You have to hear it!  Listen!”

  
“I know what it is, don’t get your dakkas in a twist,” Slit replied, coolly, and Nux’s attention was finally on him, eager to learn what he knew.

  
“What is it, Slit?  Who is it?  I know I’ve heard it before, but I can’t remember.  You’re older, you have to know what it is.  Tell me!”  Blue eyes widened and the older Pup grinned proudly, Nux always did look up to him and the littler boy was so easy to manipulate.  

  
“That’s the sound of the Immortan’s doofer,” he explained, grin growing, eyes narrowing, and he raised his hands to dance his fingers before the little boy’s eyes.  

  
“The doofer?“ Nux asked, excited.

  
“The Doof Warrior! He’s a disfigured monster, they say, with sharp teeth and fingers the size of—“ oh what were those wooden things that grew out of the ground called again? “Knives!”  The little boy’s eyes widened more when Slit pulled the blade from its case, shining before him and the little pup ogled at it.  “He makes those howling noises at night, you know the ones.  And they say he’s blind–“

  
“He’s blind!” 

  
“’Say he wears a face over his own face to hide his no-eyes,” pointing to his own dark blues with the blade, Nux backing away from him.

  
“No-eyes?”

  
“And they say he eats little Pups who wander too…close!” and he jumped at the little boy, Nux yelping and stumbling away from the advancing Slit, tripping over his too big for such a small boy boots and landing with a whimper against the stone floor, Slit laughing at his misfortune, as usual.   

  
The chords still sounded down the hall, being drowned out by the engines that grew louder.  It continued to intrigue the small pup and he strained his ears to listen, Slit grinning wryly.  “Uses echoes,” the older boy said, dragging Nux to his feet.  “With his guitar.  When hes playin’, you know he’s on the hunt.”  Another attempt to scare the small Pup.  

  
“Guitar…so that’s what that is!”  What little fear the Pup had developed was quickly vanishing again and Slit nodded for him to follow.

  
“Now let’s get back, before the War Boys figure out we’re missed and—Nux?” a quick turn of his head and he found the space Nux to be occupying was now vacant, and the thudding of too big boots mashed with the strings and he growled audibly before giving chase.  “Nux!  He’s gonna eat ya!  He’s gonna eat ya raw!”

  
Sharp teeth?  No-eyes?  A face over his face?  Nux just had to see this monster the Immortan had indoctrinated into his War Boys.  If a blind man couldn’t drive, couldn’t work, what could he do?  Play a guitar…

  
Nux paused in the hall, the music the loudest and he peeked around the corner, eyes growing like sauces when he saw the thing, but he didn’t look quite how Slit described him, not from the back at least.  He looked, like a normal War Boy, bald and powdered and clad in nothing but torn pants and canvas shoes, and when Nux moved closer, watching a hand move up and down the wooden neck, the head snapped to the side, ears on alert, a sniff in the air and Nux froze when he saw his face.  He saw no face over the face as Slit had said there would be, but he did catch a glimpse of his no-eyes, closed holes where lookers should have been.  He gasped at the sight, and the doof’s fingers scratched the strings.  No sharp teeth from what Nux could tell, but he did have long spindly fingers, the kind that could wrap around Nux’s neck no problem and he paused in his approach, remembering what Slit had said about it eating War Pups…

  
Instead of turning and eating him though, the Doof Warrior ran the opposite direction of the Pup, and Nux, perplexed at such an action, gave chase.  
“Come back here!”

  
The guitarist sped through the halls with his fingers on the strings at all times, slamming through the swinging doors of a truck separating one hall from another and he was racing through that.  Quickly through the fire lit space, sneakers pounding against stone and then squeaking against metal.  Riffs echoing behind him, he maneuvered through the Citadel like he indeed had eyes, and Nux shrieked with laughter.  “Doof, doof, doof!” he called after him, said ‘doof’, back still to the little pup, fingers still across the metal strings, a scratching melody in his wake.  

  
And then he was gone, lost through a crevice into the light and Nux approached the sun slowly, remembering stories of the Immortan, tales of capturing the light, but what stories mattered to a man who could not see the light to begin with?  Could he really be blind, the young pup wondered.  He flew through the halls like he knew the place, like the world were clear and shiny yet he had no-eyes.  

  
Just as the sunlight touched his powdered skin with its warming glow, Nux felt a give in the rock, big boots slipping and then a hand around his wrist pulling him back.  Heart in his throat, eyes still wide and searching for the guitar playing blind man, he hardly paid mind to the rescuing hand.  At least not until its grip tightened on his arm and the pain brought him to the reality that he was in big trouble.

  
The old Ace scowled at the Pup, grinding teeth under a loose lip as he pulled at the Pup in his other arm, Slit fuming under the authority.  “You’re supposed to be in the Mechanics, aren’t ya?  What are ya doin’ up here?” he demanded and Slit wrenched his arm but the Ace had a firm grasp on the skinny limb.

  
“I wanted to see the doof,” Nux answered, honestly.  “I heard his guitar!  It sounded so so shiny, Ace.  And Slit said he ate other Pups but he didn’t eat me.”

  
“That’s cuz you taste like shlanger,” Slit teased and Nux scowled and kicked at the older boy who pushed him back, Ace having to pull the two further apart in response.  

  
“Enough of it, with the both of ya,” the Ace hollered, giving both boys a firm shake.  “Don’t you worry about the Doof.  You worry bout your engines, that’s what you’re in the shop to learn.  We all got our jobs to do. Remember what I told ya?”

  
Nux nodded.  “That the Citadel is like one big machine,” he stated, remembering the tale well, the little lover of mechanics that he was.  “Every part is important to help it run clean and clear.”

  
“That’s right,” the old Boy said proudly, patting the small child’s shaven head.  “And your part is learnin’ how to maintain them parts.”

  
Slit was not as enthusiastic about the Dog’s euphemisms regarding mechanics and their home.  He more or less rolled his eyes and pouted, waiting for the Ace.  “Can’t a car run without all its parts?”

  
“Sure it can,” answered the Ace, sly smirk on his crooked lip.  “Without a wheel or breaks, run straight off a cliff, no problem.  Engine will get you far, but the wheel will take you where you wanna go.”

  
“A car needs all its parts, right Ace?” Nux added, guitar distractions unheard and near forgotten.

  
“All that you can manage to stuff in there, yes.  Just like people.  Ya can’t run without your head on your shoulders.”

  
“But you can run on with only one arm,” Slit threw in, dissatisfied with the conversation.  

  
“And speaking of one arm, you’ll be driving with Furiosa today,” the Ace told him, pointedly, and Slit scowled.  

  
“Furiosa?  But she’s no fun—“

  
“Now, we aren’t out there teachin’ Pups to drive for fun.  We’re buildin’ ya up.  You’re half-life can’t be all fun.”

  
“Well it should be—“

  
“Right, and I should be the bloody Queen of England.”

  
Slit’s eyes narrowed. “Who’zat?” he asked, and Nux was just as curious. 

   
“What’s England?”

  
Leading the Pups along, the Old Ace chuckled at their curiosity and waved off the matter with ease.  “Things of history, Pups.  Things you don’t gotta worry about.”

  
“Cuz we’re half-lifes,” piped little Nux.  “And it’s our job to protect the Citadel and the Immortan.  No learnin’ for that.  Just engines and guns and our brothers…”

  
“And…”

  
“And we do our parts, no matter how small. …To run the Citadel clean and clear.

  
“Good on ya, pup,” Ace affirmed, nudging the boy towards another entrance, but Nux was reluctant to go still.  This time from something else shiny and interesting.

  
“But won’t the Citadel be fine if you take me with you, just for today.”  

  
Ace sighed, rubbing old weary eyes at the boy’s pleading blue pools, wide and begging to get behind the wheel of something he couldn’t even see over.  He expected as much, but had hoped to deter the boy with a bit of lessons learned.  Nux did indeed love being around the cars and their parts in the shops, but he loved even more to be riding in one of the metal machines.  The boy, small and young as he was, could not be thrown from the idea of one day becoming a driver, and he ogled at the war rig every chance he got, along with anything else on wheels.  “When you’re older, Nux.  Bigger.”

  
“When your skinny legs can reach the pedals,” Slit teased, glare on their path and arms still crossed but he teased nonetheless.

  
“Oi, I grew a whole nut since last season!” Nux defended, pointing to his too big boots.  “Look, my boots almost fit!”  They did not fit at all and Slit was no idiot.

  
The old Dog was quick to knock their squabbling once again, shooing away Nux to his own designated area.  “Yes, you’re a regular ol’ giraffey.  Now chop chop, to the chop shop, Pup!”  He ordered, clapping his hands together after the little runt who scampered off quick, guitars and war rigs in his imaginings.  “And you make your way to the Gimper,” he then told Slit, issuing a solid but light crack to the back of the adolescent boy’s skull.

  
Slit let a grumbling sigh through his lips as he rubbed at his now aching head, finally free of the old Dog at least.  “Why do I have to drive with _Furi_?”

  
“What?  Still mad cuz she bested ya the last time?  I told ya, keep your left hook up and she won’t throw you into the sand like a dimpled lizard. Now get on to the car.”

  
A frustrated growl but he did as the man said, no need for another crack.  
While the old man and the boy headed for the lift, Nux made his way back along the path, a strumming in his head and he hummed along to it, small fingers lifting at the waist of his pants for the belt was slipping and he was far too skinny for the things.  He wouldn’t let his size deter him though.  Slit was dumb.  Stupid.  Stupid Slit, just because he was bigger he thought he was so smart, and maybe he was, but not like Nux.  The little boy told himself he could beat Slit at anything if he wanted, and he coldn’t wait to do so once he was finally able to reach the pedals, because he would leave his fellow War Boy in the dust soon as he did.

  
The scratching of metal and billowing of flames could be heard ahead, and he knew he’d be in for a scolding and a good few smacks for wandering off, but as soon as those riffs started to sound from the opposite corridor, it all proved worth it, because Nux took off again.

  
He just wanted to see him, see if he really was what Slit said he was.  Doof Warrior.  What was a doof?  And what did they do?  Play guitar for…what exactly?  Please the Immortan?  V8?  Who? For what purpose?

  
Sneaking along back the way he came, keeping an eye out for the Ace and any other War Boys that might interrupt his snooping, he managed to follow the sound back to the metal floor, chains on the wall, not a War Pup in sight, nor Boy, nor Dog, nor anyone save for the shiny metals and the shiny strings.  He couldn’t see him, not right away, looking this way and that, hearing the music, not placing it, almost feeling the strings being plucked himself and his fingers itched.  “Doof?” he called, quietly, but hopefully loud enough for the other to hear.  “Where are ya?  Can I see ya?  Slit said you eat Pups…I’m not a Pup though!”  Not a Boy either, he reminded himself and he sighed dejectedly, carrying on.  “I’m a…a machine,” he called, the riffs stopping and he gasped again, a tiny sound from a tiny throat.  “Taste like oil and gas, you won’t want none of that, will ya, Doof?”  

  
Even the pumping in the walls and the clacking of metal far back in the shops was quieter, almost eerie in a sense, for he could hear his own breathing, and though the sun was shining on the metal and touching his boots something felt dark, made him uneasy, made him cold, his heart thumping.  “Unless you…like to eat metal…” too uneasy, but he wouldn’t admit he was scared, not even when alone would he do such a  thing.  He was a War Boy, er, Pup.  Bred to be fearsome not fearful.  Brave and crazy and willing to take on anything, no matter their size, their will, their tact.  A War Boy was willing to put himself in front of anything, being killed in the process a longed for destiny.  Better than ‘dying soft’ in the Citadel walls.  

  
Little heart pounding, sweat forming on his brow and wetting the caked on white, wide blue eyes searching all around him, ears on alert, listen for the riffs, listen for that guitar.  So shiny, amazing thing, interesting, but why is it so quiety now?

  
“I know you’re here,” he whispered, searching through the sun, into the wide open outside, oranges and blues and greens and browns, the most colorful sight he’d seen in his life, used to the dark and dank, the colors didn’t matter to him.  What mattered, was that stupid Doof and where eh could be.

  
A moment crawled by, too long for the little War Pup, and his spine tingled.  Suddenly, a swooping sound from above, the catch of binding, and the Doof Warrior himself was dangling, right here in front of him, face to face, inches apart, sending the littlest War Pup back in a fright.  The eyeless Warrior laughed, thick mangled teeth being his smile and his voice a raspy cackle.  He swung to and fro, bound from celing to ankle and enjoying the defiance of gravity as the little Pup regained his composure, standing quickly and glaring at the manic guitarist.

  
“Funny,” he muttered, rubbing his sore bottom and adjusting his belt again, careful in his approach.  The Doof seemed less timid this time, and his fingers flitted over the strings a few seconds, Nux a confused Pup at the action.  “Slit said you were a monster, who eats War Pups.  That true?”

  
Fingers across the strings, soft and quick plucks, sliding his thumb and a smirk.

  
“You don’t look like a monster…but you are one ugly piker,” Nux stated, blatant but then War Boys were never modest.  It was all about meeting a good death at the end of the day, provided they lived long enough to do so…

  
The Warrior’s smirk grew and his fingers danced on the strings again, and again, a bit longer this time and he laughed at the boy, swinging some more.  Nux laughed back, nervous at first, but the Doof was quickly growing on him.  He was just another War Boy, a half-life, younger than Nux initially thought, maybe just a bit older than Slit, but not by much.  A boy.  He was…just a boy, disfigured and blind and ugly as fuck but still just a boy, and Nux was relieved.  Good, he wasn’t going to get eaten.

  
“How’d you get up there?” he asked, noticing the cords round the guitarist’s ankle travel up up up to the gears of the lift.  “You climb that far?  That fast?  You must really like flying huh?”

  
Another grin, another riff, and Nux smiled back.  “Don’t ya know how to talk?” 

Blue eyes were stuck to the guitar, an old and thrown together thing, sounded horrible than he remembered the sound before, but playable, and the Doof reveled in his finger work.  “Got no voice?”

  
Nux looked at the guitar, the long fingers of the eyeless War Boy, how they danced across the strings smoothly, like oil slicked across the digits and Nux’s smile grew the more the older boy played.

  
“Shiny?” 

  
Nux’s eyes widened still.  He did have a voice. Cracky and raspy and dry but a voice all the same “The shiniest thing I’ve ever seen,” he affirmed.  “You can teach me that right?  How to play that?”

  
A raspy laugh and a show of crooked broken teeth and his fingers sped up, jumping this way and that, on both hands, up and down, so fast, Nux could hardly keep up.  So shiny, he didn’t even notice the pack of War Boys behind him.

  
So while Nux and the Warrior dealt with bigger badder bullies, Slit had to deal with being seated next to someone who would sooner clack him on the jaw with her stubby arm than look at him. “Why couldn’t I  drive with Morsov?”

  
“Cuz I’m better,” the teenaged girl snorted, leaving Slit to scowl at the dash, and then grab his seat when she lunged the old battered vehicle forward.


	2. Driver's Ed and a Bloody Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slit can reach the pedals and steer the wheel and manages to drive Furiosa up a wall. This chapter is FILLED with multiple headcanons shared between me and peeps on the Tumblrs. From Driver's Ed to sleeping arrangements to rooms filled with young War Chillens. OC's pop up in this chapter, so be warned. Also, I kinda made Slit a hateful child...but hell why not...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It''s completely coincidental that The Bus Driver drives a bus and teaches children at the same time. I didn't mean for it to look all schooly alright...even though it is ;) I still might work on the other piece but this one's goin' good I guess..maybe? It's more or less a fun fic, some serious bits, mostly kids and teens doing shit, growing up, getting high, going for joy rides, ya know...the ushe. Next chapter will start probably...with a little more dark atmosphere, alot of dark atmoshper at least for a lil bit. They are War Boys in the Citadel after all. Just..well lemme know if you're liking anything, gives incentive and stuffs ;)

Echoes Through The Citadel

Driver’s Ed and a Bloody Mouth  
Xxx

Slit never did enjoy being second best, second anything, second to none; he was a brute of a kid who demanded the respect deserving of an Imperator, something he knew he could never be. He was a half-life after all, it’s what they told him. Sick and expendable and he never recalled a time he was sick. Not like the other Pups. Sure his ear was jacked and deformed but thus far in the twelve years of his life, he’d gotten away with fewer stretches of a raised temperature. He dubbed those days unfortunate setbacks in his health, but they were nothing short of a cold, a bug working its way through his system, cleaning out all the bad stuff, and when he was awake and ready, he felt rejuvenation. 

He wished he was sick today though. Oh did he wish he could get out of driving today. It’s not that he didn’t want to drive. Of course he wanted to drive, he wanted nothing more but to drive, it was his goal to become one of the Citadel’s best, maybe prove himself a healthy being, become part of the Imperators, like Ragnorok! Ragnorok, now there was a man to aspire to be, and Slit strove to be the best he could. Who knew? Maybe he’d be the first War Boy to rank Imperator, and he wasn’t going to let the odds, and there were man, get in his way

If only Furiosa would let him drive though. Oh, he was driving, slower than he wished, stuck in third gear because the teenager believed she knew better than he. Sure she’d been driving longer than he had, but he was more than ready to blast through the desert in their little Gremlin, whip a sharp turn, turn up sand behind him, punch his foot down on the accelerator and be gone with this world for a few minutes. Furiosa advised him otherwise. 

He wasn’t even allowed to leave the area, a mostly barren and open plot settled flat with dirt and dust behind the Citadel. They couldn’t drive any further until the Ace gave the go ahead, and that wouldn’t be for months at this rate. No walls left for dirty Wretched to watch them from afar, a type of amusement to see children prepped and polished into fine tuned drivers and mechanics but Slit could do without their gawking. They stayed at bay thankfully, if only to avoid a possibly hostile run in with one of his fellow guarding War Boys. Slit was grateful beyond measure to be apart from that filth, the more he forgot about his younger years the better, no good anyway. Furiosa didn’t make the sanctuary of driving any better. 

“You’re too eager,” she told him, bluntly and Slit rolled his eyes, which she responded to with a light jab to his shoulder, a two pronged metal limb her substitute compliments of the old Ace. “If you kick it too fast you’ll grind the clutch.”

“I know how to drive,” he snapped, seeing the Ace and his partner, a tall friendly thing they called The Bus Driver, said bus lending a grand hand when it came to Warfare. “I’ve been doing this for weeks now.”

“You act like you’ve been doing it for weeks, but you’ve been slipping since day one.”

“Lemme punch it and I’ll show ya how good I really am. You guys never lemme do nothin’ fun…”

“It’s not about having fun, it’s about keeping your rig straight and your lancer on his feet.” 

A literal hiss like growl sounded from the boy as he glared ahead of them, purposefully ignoring her teachings and shifting up to third. Furiosa was not impressed. 

Though elder War Boys were tasked with teaching the new line of Pups the entire ropes of driving, they would eventually seat new Boys, teens like Furiosa, into the passenger seat of a trainer vehicle, prove their knack at supporting their brothers, and see how well they could control one another. It also gave Ace a break from dealing with Slit’s slimy mouth.

“’Twas a bad plot, Ace,” sounded the tall man, chewing on gifted seeds and spitting out their shells. He rubbed his back against the metal sheet of his bus, a handful of eager Pups scattered about his vehicle’s frame, awaiting their turns at the wheel.

“Come off it, now,” replied the elder, cleaning his goggles with a rag from his belt, greased bald head shining in the sun and The Bus Driver chuckled, sardonic. “Furiosa’s a good driver, knew it before we ever picked her up. Bag of nails she is, shouldn’t have a problem with Slit, not after last time. Knicked him good in the cranium.”

The Driver nodded. “Aye, that she did. But she also did so with that metal hand’o hers. Slit’s not gonna forget that so easily.”

“What’s he gonna do? Shank her while he’s maneuverin’? Come on, boyo, ya don’t think that?”

The tall man shrugged, dark jungle eyes twinkling with humor as he spit out another seed. Another vehicle was on par with Furiosa and Slit’s, a couple of decent minded students at the helm thank V8. Last thing they needed was a crash. 

“What I do think though, is that you have a teenaged girl and a pubescent boy in the same car together. The last thing they’re going do is get along.”

“That’s what teachin’s for anyway, innit?”

A smirk, a crunch of a seed in between his teeth. “I give ‘em five minutes total out there. We’re peakin’ at four now.”

The Ace grumbled something under his breath, replacing his goggles unto his head, just in time to see the cranky little Gremlin speed off course. 

“Glory me, may it be, I was wrong after all Ace. Haha, took him half a minute less I thought it.” A clap of his hand on the old Boy’s shoulder, Ace sent a step forward as he attempted to wave down the stubborn boy. All attempts failed.

“Slit, you’re such an ass!” Furiosa yelled. Why did she agree to this? Not that she had much choice, but she might have been able to weasel her way into a different partnership. Maybe with Patches, he was at least settled and obedient. “Knock it off!”

Slit ignored her, laughed at her more, and struck it into fourth, gliding around the worn tread paths and completely veering off course, a sadistic type of grin on his face as he pulled her round an outcropping, disappearing from the old Boy’s sights, and that’s just how Slit liked it.

Furiosa on the other hand…

The Driver politely waved over the second pair of driving Pups, excusing himself as he hopped over a head of the open top vehicle, encouraging the Pup at the wheel give chase as Ace joined along with them. The Bus Driver seemed delighted, Ace was perturbed, and Furiosa was vexed. “Dammit, Slit,” she muttered, catching the chase behind them, knowing even she was going to suffer for Slit’s ignorance and she acted on her rage by slamming her metal limb into his thigh. The boy roared out with the pain and jerked the car right, sending Furiosa into the door before he pulled the break, sending the car into a complete circle, dust flying up all around them, through the vents and windows. “Told ya I was good.”

“Ugh, you’re such a child. You can’t do war if you can’t listen! You’ll be lucky if you even make it a War Boy.”

“What place for you to talk,” he stated, disinterested. If there was one thing young Slit was good at, it was crawling under people’s skin and leaving a nasty rash in his wake. “You’re not even a real War Boy, you’re just some rejected Breeder Ace pulled outta the gutter.”

He didn’t even have to see the fury in her eyes, the heat of her rage was felt enough. But he could have chosen his words a little bit more carefully. Furiosa roared out her anger with the stupid Pup, grabbing hold of the stick with her pronged hand and the wheel with her other, sending a painful headbutt into Slit’s bummed ear and the boy cried out, a hand flying up to shove her away as he slammed on the breaks. 

The Ace and The Driver, with their car load of children, emerged from around the outcropping, speeding after the now stunned car and sliding to a halt just as Slit scrambled from his window, boots kicking at the enraged teenager as he escaped her grasp. Falling to the dirt, coughing up dust, Furiosa right on his heels, machine still in neutral and rolling slowly away. He sent another kick to stave her off but she sent a knee up to block the fallen kick, Slit backing away quickly as she threw a metal swing down. 

He rolled away, scurried around her, pushed her, a strong boy to be sure as he brought her down, one hand fumbling to claim his knife from his belt to cut the clasps of the shoulder strap, the only thing keeping the fake limb in place. She rolled, swung, and he fell. But he punched back, a blow to her jaw, pulled at her arm as they tussled in the sand, knife at leather again and it loosened and he thought he’d get the upper hand. Her knee to his nether regions was a good enough turn though, and a hot pain shot up his gut and sent through him a wave of nausea.

Dirt on her face, piercing vexation in her eyes, panting like a dog she pulled at her falling limb, detaching it completely with a shred of the cut leather. She swung at the boy, metal claw just brushing the air under his nose as he remembered how hard that thing hit, leaning away from the blow. Her free hand went straight for the missed mark. Well shit…

Blood dripped from her knuckles, a nice gash in the boy’s lip as he stumbled, and Ace hollered for them to halt at last. Both kids only saw blood, a scratching desire to see the other fail and by the time Slit brought up his knife and Furiosa brought up her arm, hands at both their necks tugged them like the Pups they were. A scolding from both elders, a declaration of their idiocy. There was plenty of time to fight outside of lessons, the old Ace said, a hoarse growl as he snatched Furiosa’s arm from her hand. Neither child appeared too injured, and that was good, less attention for the Organic. Slit did attempt to disguise a sniffle by pretending it was due to dust, but they all knew better when they saw the shine in his eyes, tears he defended to the death were only caused by her kick to his groin. It was a hard hit after all. His torn ego had nothing to do with it.   
When he grumbled another insult the two were at it again, wrenching away from the men’s hands and into the dirt they went.

….

With daylight fading, noises about the Citadel lowered, still prominent, just less grating. Perhaps it was the lack of shouting orders, whooping hollers, and boots stomping through the halls. An almost peace, Wretched below hiding into their hovels to escape the desert’s night cold, War Boys above disappearing into their bunks, the Immortan himself taking heed to a tiredness worn through at the ending day. Clacking of metal still resonated, almost a rhythm, a lullaby of sorts, bidding Boys and Pups alike to shut their eyes and rest their weary bones, pray that Walhalla would wait their entrance for another day.

One barrack full of Pups however was still a rambunctious filled mill, children fighting over discarded belongings, playing simple games around metal nuts and bolts, one drawing funny little men on his senior’s back with coal, the older Boy idly chatting with another closer to his age. The Ace weaved through the waist high bustle of giggling Pups, calling for their elders to reform their responsibilities set on them by their Immortan ruler himself. “Call on your Pups now!” 

Nux sat upon his own bunk, casually swinging his legs as he hummed a tune he remembered of the Doof’s guitar, an eye swollen, bruises of fingers on his neck, his shoulders hurt, but overall he was a happy little Pup, for he’d made friends with Immortan’s Doof Warrior, and if that didn’t tickle him chrome, nothing did. When Slit ambled through the shoulders of their brethren, Nux beamed, hopping from his seat and all but tackling Slit with his eagerness.

“Slit look, I got punched and it finally got my loose tooth out,” he said, excitedly, pointing to the little red hole in his gums, a front tooth gone and Slit was far from interested in the younger Pup’s tale. Nux noted the dried blood on his lip, the bruise on his cheek, and he giggled. “Did Furiosa do that?”

A striking glare from Slit and the older boy pushed him away, heading straight for bed, noisy War Boys be damned. “I got her back,” he grunted, collapsed into the hammock, face hurting against the fabric but he didn’t care. “What happened to you?” he asked back, taking notice himself of Nux’s own sustained injuries. “The Doof do that?”

“No, Coma’s actually pretty shine,” he said, wriggling at his remaining front tooth. That knock to his mouth had not only dislodged one tooth, but had loosened another.

He furrowed his brow, but still glared at the wall. “Really?”

“Ah-huh. Said he’d teach me how to play his guitar…soon as he got it fixed. He kinda banged it up over Archer’s head. He said it’d be hard to, cuz it’s made of wood and wood’s not from here…where does wood even come from?” 

Was he serious, Slit thought, taking his time to turn painfully towards his fellow Pup, ignoring the screeching of a tiny toddler as it pulled at a Boy’s pants. Three barracks full of War Boys and he had to be stuck in the one with all the whiny Pups, and he dreaded the day he’d have to take up his turn of helping rear them up. A community taking care of one another, and Slit preferred to take care of himself. Then they had to go and drop Nux on him, or rather Nux, for some inexplicable reason, imprinted something fierce because he never seemed to go away.

He watched the boy wriggle his tooth and yakka on about Coma and their run in with Archer and his crew of Repair Boys. To satiate Slit’s distemper, he decided to help the young Pup out. “Lemme see that,” he pushed aside Nux’s hand, his own oil stained fingers prodding at the little incisor. Nux had been late to grow since he’d been brought up the lift to the Citadel. He was a runt then and he was a runt now, too short for his age and too skinny, he was even losing his baby teeth later than the other kids. 

“Don’t pull on it,” the little Pup whined, and Slit muttered something in return as he asked Nux how he’d managed to piss off Archer so much. “He’s just a stupid smeg, he does—OW!” 

Slit pulled the tooth away, bloody and still with a string of gum on it, laughing at his companion’s expense, said companion doubled over with his hands over his mouth, whining from the wrack of pain crashing through the nerves of his gums. Tears flooded his eyes and he had to close them quickly, Slit continuing to tease him.  
“Oh don’t cry about it, it was gonna come out anyway…”

With a bleeding mouth and a newfound anger, Nux slammed his small body into Slit’s midsection, sending the boy and himself heels over ankles from the hammock to the ground. It was a short tussle, Slit getting the upper hand easily over the smaller Pup but damn if Nux wasn’t a wriggly thing, and when his fists were confined he took to spitting blood into Slit’s face. Upsetting the already peeved boy, Nux paid for it with a hard punch to his shoulder and the older boy pulled away, wiping away the blood and nudging the small Pup with his toe. “You’re puny,” he told him, sick smirk on his face. “At this rate, you’ll never be able to hold your own, go to war, they’ll probably stick you in the milk parlor, make you wash fat mothers all day.”

Little Nux growled in defiance, but refrained from another tackle. Slit would win, he always won, Archer would have won too if Coma wasn’t there. “I’ll grow! I’ll get bigger, I’ll build my own car, and I’ll leave you in the dust…with all your mothers.” A gesture, licking his tongue through his thumb and forefinger, a derogatory jest that more or less meant ‘lick my asshole’ and Slit’s petty humor was once again disrupted by his anger. He went in for the strike, and felt himself pulled back, strong hand gripping his neck and thrusting him over his hammock once more. Wide eyed and grunting he searched quickly for his assaulter, and stopped short of a tongue lashing as soon as he saw who it was.

“Now, now, my young Pup, the two of you, every night? Really?” The Bus Driver was not as intimidating to Slit as he was to many of the other War Boys, but it could have had something to do with the way the old driver presented himself to their particular barrack. He was a long time friend of the Ace, drove for the Immortan himself, trained Pups into able War Boys, and entertained their curiosities of tales of his travels, times of wars, and hardly tried to be any scary and serious when around younger lots. It was weird, considering how easily his fellow Imperator Ragnorok could sweep a room into silence with just his eyes, piercing through a crowd with an unyielding gaze.

The Bus Driver was just soft…

“Come down to see to it youngings knew their rules, what was it? It was settlin’ time wasn’t it?” a bronze gaze at the two battered boys and Nux’s still bleeding mouth. 

“He’s the one that tackled me,” Slit accused, pointedly as he rolled to sit in the hammock, Nux glaring angrily back.

“He pulled out my toosth!—“ he stopped short, covering his mouth, and Slit laughed inhis bed. No front teeth surely made for comical speech now. “Sthop laughing, you did it on purpose!”

“Of course I did it on purpose. Or else you woulda bugged me over and over about your stupid tooth!” Nux went for another attack but the Driver’s fingers latching onto the large belt around his waist kept him in place, and up on his toes and he grabbed back his pants from the tall man.

“You two are the bitter brothers aren’t ya? You were due for new teeth anyway, lil Pup,” the large man reassured Nux, rubbing his bald head and receiving a rather exasperated grunt from the small boy. The Driver offered a bolstering smirk and a wink and Nux did feel eased. It was always something great when a driver, especially a full life like the Bus Driver himself, smiled upon you. 

Ace sounded through the room. “Evening prayer, let’s go, Pepper stop drawing on Patches. Rocky, put those wrenches away, they ain’t yer’s. Allen, Allen?” He searched round the scattering Pups, plucking up a small thing no older than four from the group. “Now what’d I tell ya bout gettin’ underfoot?”

The little whitened toddler smiled and giggled and grabbed at the old man’s goggles hanging at his neck. “My glasses?”

“No, those are my goggles,” Ace corrected, waving for the surrounding pups hurry to their beds, tiny fingers pulling at his goggles. “Slit! Did you sock Nux in the face again!?”

“No! I pulled out his tooth!”

Nux was eagerly awaiting a scolding for Slit from the elder Boy but none came. In fact, Ace complimented him on a job well done and Nux’s face fell. “Good onya, he was needin’ to be rid of those ones.”

“Hey!”

Slit laughed, Nux attempted to hit him again, and the Driver was pulling him back once more. “Easy now, Pup, easy. Did the old Ace not say it was time for prayer…” With little effort, he scooped up the child in an arm and flung him next to Slit in the hammock, Nux remembering how to giggle and smile once more and Slit forgetting it. The older boy sat and brooded in his bed until Ace had all the boys down and ears turned to attention.

As was the ritual tonight and every night before, every morning and every afternoon, Ace led the young Boys into intwining their fingers together, above their heads, in symbolic recognition of the V8. The old man sitting the little Allen onto the ground and guiding his hands himself until the small child understood to keep them there…for as long as a small child could manage. Nux was quick to join, mimicking the gesture with a rag stuck in his mouth to soak the blood.  
.  
Slit on the other hand, was feeling rebellious, and much preferred to lie down and ignore everyone until Ace called upon him. “Slit! Sit up!”

He grumbled. “I already praise the Immortan every day, does one night really count—“  
“Yes! Now do as you’re told, boy, less you’d rather end up in a boneyard.”

A grunted sigh, begrudgingly following his peers in their praying salute though he kept his hands at his forehead rather than above, staring through his arms, blocking out the words as Ace told them, the Pups repeating them. It was usually a droll event, one Slit preferred to skip, and he preferred to do a great many other things and were it not for watchful eyes and strict rules, he’d happily go about his way. When were things ever so simple though?

“By my flesh, I worship him,” the Ace began, and Slit snuck a look to the Bus Driver, who was as the others, thought a certain smirk to his lips, a knowing one and he nudged Slit with his elbow to keep his eyes forward. Man was good, the boy thought, obeying as the Pups repeated.

“By my flesh I worship him,” they mimicked, Slit more or less grumbling the line, Nux’s voice muffled by the rag in his mouth, almost made Slit chuckle at the image. Almost.

“By my blood, I sacrifice.”

Slit’s eyes wandered through the room between his arms, Ace and the Pup at his feet in view, Patches proving to be the Ace’s pet as he sat proudly in his prayer, Pepper right next to him, coal stained fingers fumbling to stay clasped as he watched the others curiously.

“By my blood, I sacrifice.”

“By my deeds, I honor him…”

The room full of Pups echoed back. “By my deeds, I honor him, V8.”

“Alright, now off ta bed, the lot of ya,” Ace called out, snapping fingers for Pups to mind, those not in their beds scurrying off to do as bid, the man hoisting up the toddler whose fingers still linked until he got hold of the goggles again.  
Slit sighed with relief, muttering his disregard for the actions and receiving a light slap to the back of his head. A glare towards the Bus Driver who simply winked at the pair and went about ushering Pups as Ace had. With his retreat, Slit groaned again, Nux bouncing up to latch fingers onto his own bunk, struggling so. So short and skinny and weak, it was a wonder he was even allowed up the lift at all. How could someone so useless, who couldn’t even lift himself into his own hammock, become a War Boy? What was that guard thinking when he snatched him up onto the platform?  
It was a humorous struggle, and Slit finally found some amusement in it until Nux accidentally kicked him in the chin with his bare foot. “You’re pathetic, you know that,” muttered the boy, and he pushed the younger one up by the seat of his pants, if only to be rid of him as soon as possible. 

“And you’re hands are cold,” Nux mentioned when Slit tugged on his ankle. “You’re like a lizard.”

“Mm.” 

“Gru, gru, gru!” a small boy in the distance called, tugging on the old man’s pockets, big green eyes looking up hopefully. “Can you tell us a story? One of your old stories? Please?”

Slit groaned, again, and Nux beamed a front toothless smile. “Yeah, one from the Water Wars!”

“No, the Oil Wars!” called another Pup, eyes as green as the one tugging at Ace, and the old man shifted Allen in his arms, scoffing at their eager insistence, exchanging glances with a musing Driver.

“Those were the glory days, weren’t they Ace?” he mused, arms crossing as all bedded Pups, teens and nippers sat up in their bunks, all voicing their respective thoughts and desires to hear about the time before the end.

“Ah, they were weren’t they,” confirmed the old Boy, again shifting Allen as he sat himself in the nearest hammock, its occupant scooting over to allow the man room, attention focused on the story yet to utter from crooked lips. 

“But what about stories from before the wars, huh Pups? Now those ones are quite worth the tell…” began the Driver, Ace hushing him.

“Easy now boyo, don’t wanna blow their fragile little minds now.”

“No more than a youthful tale, trust me.”

With Allen wearing his goggles and the green eyed twins at his sides in their bed, the Ace began a tale of extraordinary interest, with images of the ocean, ships ten times as big as the War Rig, Copters—all things the youths could only imagine, some having a more difficult time than others, and some brightening faces at the very ideas. 

One set of bright green eyes peered round the shoulder of their equal companion, piercing through the crowd as they watched Slit, watched him grumble and watched him watch that green eyed pup. Nugget was his name, Nugget and Makka, Wretched throwaways Slit remembered, and Nugget always watched him, and Slit had called him weird for it several times but still the odd child stared, almost religiously, sometimes smirking. He did so now, almost like he knew something the others didn’t. It bothered Slit, and the stories bothered him, because they were old and pointless. Wordburger yakka, no use to these half-lives, yet the Pups leaned over the edge of every word, eyes wide and some mouths agape, Nux included, the simple nut, Slit thought with bitterness.

Wars and mayhem and people dying in glorious retaliation, all for guzzaline and a cup to drink. The Pups marveled at the machines the Ace described, Patches forming a V8 salute to the tale, Pepper taking the distractions to go about his coal work on the others back once more. Makka was enthralled, and Nugget…he just kept staring, smiled, and Slit rolled over, burying his face in his arms in attempts to block out the stare and the old Boy’s words.

**Author's Note:**

> This won't be way too many chapters long, not like my last fic with the bajillion chapters (oh there's more on another site believe me), so it'll be easier on me. Plus the stories are pretty simple. No I'm not doing ships of Slit and Furiosa so don't worry. Nor am I doing too much Nux and Slit so if you're here for smut you won't find a lot of it. Maybe a few sex scenes later...but I like to focus more on story and...banter. I do enjoy banter.


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